Aftermath
by Tanba Josav
Summary: My idea of what happened immediately after the pool scene in 'A Scandal in Belgravia'.   Friendship only, no slash, although it's there if you go looking I'm sure ;-


**Aftermath**

_Disclaimer_: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson rightfully belong to the brilliance of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. A big thankyou to the BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss for updating a classic. I make no money from this, but if you are so inclined please tip the writer with reviews.

_Author's Note_: This is cobbled together from video clips and faulty memories, until my DVD arrives. So any mistakes are purely intended . . . I mean my own.

_Spoilers_: Set in Season 2, so if you don't want to know how the cliffhanger resolves, please don't read until you're seen 'A Scandal in Belgravia'.

Sherlock's gun shadowed Moriarty as he walked along the poolside.

'So if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich,' the dark haired master-criminal crooned into his phone, 'if you don't, I'll make you into shoes.' With an arrogant click of his fingers Moriarty left the building without a backwards glance.

The red laser sights that dotted Sherlock's chest winked out one by one. The only sounds that remained were the gently lapping of water and John's heavy breathing.

After a few seconds Sherlock tucked the revolver back in his jacket pocket, leaving his hand inside to hide the slight tremors of his fingers.

'What the hell just happened?' John asked, from his crouched position against the change room doorframe.

'You heard, John,' Sherlock answered, 'he had a better offer.'

'A better – should I be insulted?'

Sherlock turned and gave John a tight smile. 'Don't be ridiculous, I should be insulted. What could be more interesting than killing me?'

'Oh yes, let's make it about you shall we? I was the one with a bloody bomb strapped to my chest!'

'Which wouldn't have happened if we hadn't been sharing a flat.' Sherlock pointed out.

'Don't remind me.' John closed his eyes and began taking deep breathes.

Sherlock watched with fascination as the frenetic fluttering pulse in John's neck gradually slowed to his more regular sixty-eight beats per minute. 'Better?' he asked.

'Getting there.' John replied. 'So he's gone?'

'Yes.'

John opened his eyes and looked about the cavernous room. 'We thought that before and look what happened.'

'Better offer, remember?'

John pushed himself up the doorframe until he was standing. 'Right, I can't believe you were going to shoot the bomb.'

Sherlock turned his gaze towards the pool, avoiding John's eyes. 'Glorious self sacrifice, as a soldier I thought you might appreciate it.'

'You're not a soldier,' John pointed out. 'Or a hero, as I recall you telling me.'

Sherlock turned back to look at the doctor. 'And you believe everything I tell you?'

'Usually.'

Sherlock graced John with one of his rare genuine smiles. 'I was counting on Moriarty having a backup plan.'

'So you think that phone call wasn't genuine?' John asked.

Sherlock's eyes lost focus as he mentally re-ran the last few minutes, picking over the fine details of Moriarty's body language and speech patterns. 'No, the phone call was genuine and very fortuitous for us.' Steely blue eyes sharpened on his colleague. 'And what about you, John?'

'What?'

'Did you think I'd fail to notice? The crouched position, the tensing of the muscles, what was _your_ plan? Try and knock me into the pool before the concussive blast from the explosion hit us? It wouldn't have worked.'

John looked embarrassed. 'It was the only thing I could think of, that's why I gave you the nod. I had to try.'

'I'd expect nothing else.'

Sherlock and John stood looking at each other, two soldiers in arms against the evil of the world. John started to laugh and Sherlock soon followed.

'That ringtone,' John gasped between chuckles, 'Seriously not what I was expecting.'

'What would you have preferred?'

'Theme tune to Jaws maybe, or more likely Darth Vader's _Imperial Death March_, anything but the Bee Gees.'

'Like any good chameleon he hides in plain sight, John, only letting you see what he wants you to see.'

The echo of John's laughter died away. He looked up at his friend, his marvellous, amazing, impossible friend that he'd almost lost. 'Let's go home, Sherlock.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Good idea.'

John turned and began walking towards the door he had originally entered, had it only been ten, fifteen minutes ago, it felt like hours. The silence behind him made John temporarily panic, the sudden idea of Moriarty gleefully jumping out of the shadows to kill Sherlock flashed through his head. Spinning about he saw Sherlock across the room stooping over the bomb vest. 'What are you doing?'

Sherlock picked up the vest, weighing it in his hand. 'Evidence, John.' He said.

'What?'

'Bomb makers have unique signatures, as have plastic explosives. Either might point us towards Moriarty's network.'

John's hands subconsciously crept up to his chest where the bomb vest had been. 'I don't care.'

Sherlock frowned, 'You should.'

'Just leave it!'

'Yes, of course brilliant idea.' Sherlock waved the vest about, 'leave it in a public place, shall we? I'm sure they will be a school group through here sometime tomorrow.'

John shook his head. 'Fine, but give it to the police.'

Sherlock snorted. 'I'd rather leave it to the school group, they'd be more useful.'

John winced as Sherlock casually slung the vest over his shoulder and began walking towards him. 'You're not seriously thinking of taking that home are you?'

Sherlock stopped in front of John and held out the vest. 'Take it,' he instructed, 'it's just a vest.'

John swallowed heavily and shook his head.

Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of wires. 'It's just a vest,' he repeated softly. 'I've defused the explosives, John, its safe now.'

Tentatively John reached out and took the bomb vest from Sherlock's hand. The heaviness of the explosives making his hand drop slightly before he took up the weight. 'Right,' he said softly, 'just a vest.'

Sherlock reached out and placed a hand on John's shoulder giving it a quick reassuring squeeze.

John nodded at the unexpected gesture. Tucking the vest under his right arm he stood to attention. 'Right, home it is, but' he waved a warning finger at Sherlock, 'you blow _anything_ up and you're the one explaining it to Mrs Hudson.'

Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'Wouldn't be the first time.'

John just sighed and shook his head as they walked out the door together. 'That's what I'm afraid of.'


End file.
